


The Raccoon

by supermagpie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Animals, Alternate Universe - Ordinary People, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 11:56:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supermagpie/pseuds/supermagpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A friend described the Ant-Man post credits scene to me as 'Sam and Steve find a wounded raccoon in their garage'. <br/>I wrote a fic based on this description. Hopefully Part 1 of a few ficlets. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bath

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to the fabulous ladynox for the idea and for letting me run all this by her! <3 - A

Sam has a type and he knows it; nothing seems to reel him in quite like a solid man with a soft nougaty heart as his centre. This is generally a pretty good type to have, he thinks - tough but kind and friendly. Most of his partners have been nice stable people as a result.

But even as the soft-hearted go, Steven Grant Rogers is a goddamn marshmallow, and sometimes his urge to be kind to the downtrodden extends beyond what Sam is willing to give (no matter how many pouting lips and worry-creased perfect brows go with the request!)

Sam is NOT giving his good fall jacket to a damn raccoon!

"Man, why's it gotta be my jacket?!" he protests as Steve flicks his outstretched hand with more urgency.

"He's gonna panic and run away by the time you get back here with a towel!" Steve says with a note of upset that makes Sam want to both hand over the jacket just to soothe him and tear his hair out in frustration at the former.

"Steve, come on, it's a wild animal..."

"But he's hurt, Sam. Look at that leg, it's a mess." Steve sounds forlorn, like leaving the raccoon alone to lick it's wounds is akin to abandoning a friend on the side of the road. "He's going to get picked off by something out there."

"Oh for godsakes..." Steve turns the full strength of a wounded pout on him and Sam groans, then curses as he shuffles the jacket off and tosses it at his boyfriend in exasperation. "Fine! But you owe me a coat."

"I'll buy you ten." Steve assures him with a beaming smile, sliding his hands into the sleeves of the bomber and carefully reaching into the dim alcove under their laundry sink to get hold of the raccoon. The animal thrashes and hisses, but Steve manages to get a good grip and pull him out into the light. It isn't any more flattering than the shadow, his grey and black fur is frazzled and matted with dirt and wet. Sam sighs as he thinks of the claw marks and stains getting on the lining...

"My sister gave me that coat..."

"I'll tell her I'm sorry when we see her at Thanksgiving. Would you open the door for me?"

"You're bringing it INSIDE?"

"Where else am I going to give it a bath?"

Sam runs both hands down his face before sighing and opening the door as well. He holds it open as Steve steps in after him, the struggling raccoon pressed tightly in his arms. The animal looks at Sam with huge panicked eyes as he is carried past and despite himself he feels a twinge of sympathy for the beast.

He follows Steve into the bathroom, watching as his boyfriend settles on his knees next to the bathtub, leaving it to Sam to turn on the lights. The raccoon seems a little tired out by his struggle now and sags in his arms for a moment, mewling, giving Steve a chance to start some water running.

“It’s okay little buddy, we’re gonna help you out, alright?” he says as he turns the taps on.

Either the words or the rushing water sounds don’t sit well, apparently. The raccoon promptly yowls and tries to scale Steve’s shoulder, stayed only by becoming tangled in the jacket lining. Steve grapples him, but barely, struggling to disentangle the animal from the coat. The fight goes on for a minute or two before Steve finally sighs, looking toward Sam with that pitiful expression again...

"I need more than one pair of hands here.”

“OH no. No no no. You said loan you my jacket not wash a raccoon!”

“You can hold the raccoon OR you can wash the raccoon. Your choice."

"You're gonna owe me a lot more than a jacket if I get rabies in my own bathroom, Rogers.”

"...It doesn't look rabid. Maybe we can scruff him like with Nat?"

"He's a raccoon not a cat!" 

"Raccoons are cat-LIKE!"

"And you're about to be single-like..." Sam mutters, wincing when he realizes that Steve has heard him even over the raccoon's hissing and yowling.

"Aw Sam, don't be like that..." (and there he goes with the pout again! stupid sexy Rogers!)

Well he's certainly not scrubbing the stupid raccoon that has clawed up his jacket so against his better judgement Sam grasps the struggling creature by the scruff of its neck. To his surprise it goes rather limp, ceasing all but it's displeased noises as Sam lowers it into the tub. 

Then Steve plucks the shower head off the wall and starts rinsing the animal off and that renews its struggle ten fold.

Sam gets scratched. Sam gets snarled and yowled at. Sam's hands and arms get sore and tired trying to grapple a ten pound lump of wet grey fur back under the spray even with Steve's help. 

So much contact is probably what makes him clue in first. That and how the 'stripes' on the animal's tail wash down the drain with the first hint of soap, although his dark mask markings stay put.

".......Steve, this is a cat."

"But..." Steve looks puzzled, gingerly rinsing the animal's skewed paw and squinting at the soft round shape that has been hidden behind overgrown claws and fur.... "Huh!"

"Lookit his tail and his back and stuff! Hah! He's just a cat with a weird face!" Sam exclaims, laughing a bit.

"Well I'll be." Steve pushes a few damp locks of hair off his forehead with the wrist of a soapy hand, peering up at Sam with that shy smile of his.

"...can we keep hi-"

"Don't push your luck, Rogers."

The cat yowls and flails angrily as if agreeing with Sam.

Steve sighs and grabs a towel.


	2. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuing adventures of Steve, Sam and Buckycat, also featuring Natcat!

"I kinda figured you'd be more familiar with what a raccoon looks like with the number of alleys you got beat up in as a kid." Sam says thoughtfully, rubbing at the scratches on his forearms as the half-dried cat hisses at him from the furthest corner of Natasha's carrier.

"I think you're overestimating a) how friendly Brooklyn wildlife is and b) how coherent I was after having the breath punched out of me all those times." Steve replies with an amused snort, passing Sam the tube of ointment as he picks up the pack of band aids and begins applying them to his own wounds.

Steve sighs a little, watching as Sam settles down on the damp edge of the tub and starts dabbing his wounded arms. He looks cold, his t-shirt wet through to the skin, his tattered coat lying in a heap by the side of the tub, and Steve feels the first twist of guilt stirring up his belly. He's always getting Sam into inconvenient situations like this, it feels like.

"Hey." Steve waits for him to look up before saying. "Thanks. I mean it."

And there's that familiar look as their gazes meet, Sam's irritation dissolving with the slightest application of sincerity despite his best efforts to stay annoyed. His lover just isn't much for grudges, Steve has found.

"You're just lucky you're cute." Sam snorts, a reluctantly pleased smile curving his mouth as he climbs to his feet again, holding out an ointment dotted arm to Steve. "How about you spare me trying to put band-aids on one handed and we'll call us even, okay?"

Steve gladly obliges, patching the worst of each claw mark with a bandage before pulling Sam's fingers to his mouth for a kiss.

"There." he says, smiling a little against Sam's warm knuckles. "Better?"

"By the minute..." Sam says with the low murmur that tells Steve his bid for forgiveness has been accepted in full.

He takes a step closer, leans in to nudge his forehead against Sam’s, and the cat yowls, rattling the carrier on the counter with an attempt at escape practically the moment they meet to kiss.

“That cat is cramping my style, Steve.” Sam tells him as they part again, pressing a last peck on the corner of his mouth before stepping away. Steve chuckles a little, picking up the carrier as he follows Sam out of the bathroom and into the hall.

“You know you said that about Natasha too.”

As if summoned by the utterance of her name their black and orange calico emerges from her preferred hiding place in the linen closet, winding affectionately around Sam’s ankles as they make their way into the living room. He bends down to pet the top of her head, letting her arch and rub herself against his hand.

She doesn’t linger too long however, trotting after Steve as he continues across the room and places her carrier on the coffee table. She stretches up to peer over the table edge - are they going somewhere? usually she’s been attacked by the towel long before she sees the carrier… - and her little eyes round as she spies the interloper coiled in the back of her crate. The damp stray hisses and Natasha hisses back louder, flattening her ears in irritation.

“Hey now, be nice.” Steve scolds, though in a soothing voice. “He’s had a tough day, don’t be mean to him huh?”

Natasha drops back to the floor and gives him a haughty sort of look that plainly says she will hiss at whomever she pleases. Steve sighs.

“Come on, don’t be like that. You want some dinner?”

“Heck yeah, I'm starving!” Sam says as he flops onto the couch, then points to Natasha as if suddenly understanding. “...oh wait, you were talking to her, right?”

“I’ll feed you too.” Steve says rolling his eyes at Sam’s grin. “What do you feel like? Your choices are every take out menu on the fridge.”

“How about that French place with the dinner boxes?” Sam queries as Steve steps into the kitchen, Natasha at his heels . He hides the face he makes behind the door of the pantry, pulling out two cans of wet food.

“Are you gonna order that gross soup with the oyster broth again?” he asks cautiously.  
  
“I sacrificed my favourite coat for you Rogers.”  
  
“Okay, okay, French place.”

Sam laughs as he picks up his phone to call their order in.

“Hey don’t act like you don’t love the little macarons.”

Steve nods in deference - “Okay yeah I do.” - as he pulls the lid off of Natasha’s favourite flavour. She circles his legs purring as he plucks a knife from the drawer to scrape the last bits into her bowl and Steve lifts his foot to let her rub against his toes.

Once she is occupied with her meal he takes a spare bowl filled with half of the other can over to the carrier, uncertain if a full meal is smart for a cat that may not have had a proper one in some time. With the dirt and frizz washed out of him it's clear to see that he is too thin.

“Here buddy.” he offers, crouching beside the table and cracking the door to push the bowl inside. The stray stays plastered to the back of the carrier, watching him with wary hazel eyes. The moment that Steve withdraws his hand however the cat creeps forward, limping toward the inviting smell of the bowl and burying his face in it the moment he feels safe in doing so.

“So what are we gonna do with him?” Sam asks as he hangs up the phone, stretching out on his stomach on the couch, patched arms folded beneath his head. Steve shrugs, smiling a little as he watches the cat eat hungrily.

“I’ll take him to the vet in the morning. Get his leg looked at, see if he’s chipped, and go from there I guess.”

His mouth twists in a frown as he watches the cat lick every scrap from the bowl, gingerly grooming his black and grey face with his good paw afterwards, while still trying to keep his weight off the damaged one.

Steve wonders what has happened to the poor thing before now. How he was hurt, where his myriad marks and scars have come from. Now that he isn’t struggling and is beginning to dry out his proper markings are more clear - the raccoon-like mask, a dark sock over most of his hurt leg, tattered ears and a black tipped tail. He’s a handsome cat, but for his stress-thinned coat and body.

Steve reaches out a hand, placing one finger through the grate of the carrier door. The cat flinches a little at first, hesitates, then cranes his neck forward, sniffing cautiously at the offered digit and eyeing Steve as if reconsidering his trustworthiness.

“What if he’s not chipped?” Sam asks.

The cat stretches closer to rub his head against Steve’s fingertip, offering the soft rumble of a purr in thanks.

“We’ll just have to try to find him a nice home I guess.”

“Is that code for ‘bring him home and hope Sam warms up to him before anybody wants him’?”

Steve looks over at his boyfriend, flushing a little at the knowing look he is being fixed with over Sam’s folded arms.

“...Maybe?”

Sam smirks, fond and a little resigned.  
  
“We’ll see.”

Steve can’t restrain his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Thanks to JeziBelle for their city slicker comment on the first chapter, which both made me chuckle and gave me the idea for how to start this chapter!  
> 2) Thanks to ladynox for sharing the idea that Sam is probably a foodie. Headcanon accepted and applied.  
> 3) Thanks to everybody who commented and kudos-ed the first part! I am so happy you all liked it and so appreciate that you took the time to tell me so! :3


End file.
